


Use of Deadly Force Authorized.

by a_denim_wrapped_nightmare



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Death, Flashbacks, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, POV Ryan Bergara, Trauma, and not the fun kind, don't storm military bases kids, we've moved past mentions to full-on depictions now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 01:56:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_denim_wrapped_nightmare/pseuds/a_denim_wrapped_nightmare
Summary: In the early hours of September 20th, 2019, thousands of people gathered near Groom Lake, Nevada. Some came to protest, others for attention, and others still just to see how the event would turn out. Among them were two internet personalities hoping to promote their show.That was a month ago. Ryan and Shane are still dealing with the wounds it left behind.





	Use of Deadly Force Authorized.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking! 
> 
> This story was inspired by a certain meme that's been going around for a while now (and has regained some traction in this fandom since the new season was announced). I don't think it needs any introduction. And because I can't leave any angst stones unturned, this fic exists now. 
> 
> Anyway, here's the fic!

Shane wasn’t typing as fast as he usually was; having only one functional arm will do that to a person. He was working on a script about nuclear close calls throughout history. Not the most cheery subject out there, but, as he told Ryan when he started, it did give you a new appreciation for being alive at all. 

At least he was getting more done than Ryan, who wasn’t typing much at all. 

He had things to do, _ lord knows _ he had things to do. There was research to be done for the next season of Unsolved, the scripts had to be written. And then there was Dolly Gray. 

There was a blank document in front of him, titled _ “The Mysterious Case of the Dolly Gray Impostor.” _ Back in the 20’s, a man played in the NFL under a false name, vanished on a train, and nobody ever found out who he was. It was a fun little mystery, the sort of thing Ryan would usually love to work on. He should be over the moon - BuzzFeed gave him the budget he needed for a whole new season, Zack was willing to come back for filming, he’d had ideas for new episodes even before the first season aired and now he had a chance to make them… 

God. They really thought letting them have old projects back would make up for everything. They really tried to pull that. Yeah, Shane’s gone to hell and back, can’t use an arm, and nearly died painfully, but hey, we threw some money at you two, so it’s all water under the fucking-

“Ryan.” Shane tapped on his shoulder. “Hey, Ryan.”

He turned his computer monitor so Ryan had a better look. There was a picture of a dog on there, its face squished against a glass door. 

“Do you think this dog looks like me?”

For emphasis, Shane squinted and twisted his face into something that vaguely resembled the pup on the screen, and that was enough to get a laugh out of Ryan. Goddamnit, Shane. Him and his stupid hilarious face. It almost got Ryan to really feel something. 

Almost.

* * *

“Hello and welcome to another edition of BuzzFeed Unsolved: Postmortem, a show where we answer your most pressing questions about the most recent episode of BuzzFeed Unsolved, which was the St. Augustine Lighthouse. All the questions we’re answering today come from you guys via our Facebook page, our Instagram page, or right here on the video on BUN.” 

The intro was as by-the-books as they come. Reading it off, Ryan was, for a brief moment, able to feel back in the swing of things, back to routine. Seeing Shane’s sling in the corner of his eye, however, quickly dashed that. And anyhow, there was an explanation in order. 

“I- we really should address the elephant in the room. We were supposed to come back a few weeks ago, but obviously that didn’t happen. As for why… I won’t get into the details, but, well. You’ve seen the news, you know about the… the only thing that’s been on the news these past few weeks. That’s why. Both of us are okay, our crew’s okay, that’s all I have to say.”

“I got a souvenir,” added Shane, lifting his arm - and with it, the sling - up a bit. “And sepsis!”

“Alright, they don’t need to know about the sepsis.”

“I’m just filling in the viewers, answering their questions, quelling their concerns.”

“Okay. Well, we’re here now, we’re doing fine, and that’s all you need to know. Moving on to, uh… by the way; we’ve gotten a lot of messages over the past few weeks from viewers concerned about our well-being. And looking at the comments on the latest episode, a solid chunk of them are just ‘where are you’s, ‘are you okay’s, that sort of thing. We’re not going to be answering those.”

“Nope.”

“We’re looking at episode-related questions and episode related-questions only. So, with that out of the way, let’s start things off with… how about Facebook?”

“Yeah, let’s get this show on the road.”

The questions they picked out were unremarkable, more or less. Not bad; just normal. Normal was fine. And at a time like this, some normalcy was welcome. It was the comments in between - the ones they didn’t read aloud - which weren’t as pleasant. 

He couldn’t fault people for being concerned. Hell, he appreciated that they gave a shit; on some level, he was even happy about it. He shouldn’t have felt anything _ other _ than happy about it. But each comment - 

** _daijouboo:_ ** _ Were you really at the raid? Are you guys okay? _

** _Amy Hannigan:_ ** _ What do you think about the lawsuit against the Air Force? Do you think anything’s going to come of it? Condolences btw _

** _fedsketch:_ ** _ i heard you were at the raid. hope you’re doing okay _

** _104leaflane:_ ** _ We’re here for you, ghoulboys. #september20thstrong _

** _scepticskully:_ ** _ my brother was at the raid, too. he’s safe, but he’s not doing great mentally. i’m sorry you got caught in that thing. it’s horrible. _

** _yojoe11:_ ** _ you announced the season then didn’t upload anything for like a month, where did you guys go? _

** _yojoe11: _ ** _ oh _

\- they weren’t easy to scroll past. 

“Ryan, what’ve we got coming up this week?”

“This week, we have an interesting one, we went _ fishing _ for some evidence and I think we got some good stuff.”

Puns. Gotta love ‘em.

“Make sure to watch the next episode airing this Friday, and leave all your questions on our Facebook page, Instagram page, or right here on BUN, and maybe you’ll be in the next episode of BuzzFeed Unsolved: Postmortem.”

He looked to Shane, expecting some kind of quip to cap the footage off. But Shane’s eyes were trained squarely on his phone, and he wasn’t saying a thing. 

“What are you do-” Ryan started, before the realization hit him. Never in his life had he been served such a cocktail of dread, joy, and unbridled rage. Every worry in every nerve in his body blinked out of existence, as something new yet all too familiar took its place. 

“Now, with our weekly Q-and-A concluded-”

“No.”

“-I’d like to welcome you-”

_ “No.” _

“-to the part of the show-”

“Stop it! We’re done! Shane-”

“-we call the Hotdaga, a hot dog saga commissioned by Ryan Steven Bergara, written by me, and adored by every single viewer.”

“I hate you,” Ryan said lovingly. “I hate you so much." 

* * *

**Ryan  
**hey I have a question only you can answer

**Shane  
**Oh?

**Ryan  
**don’t get excited but it’s about your stupid talking hot dog saga

**Shane  
**Ryan! You’re finally coming around

**Ryan  
** I said don’t get excited  
it’s not because I’m invested I’m just confused

**Shane  
**Of course I’m excited! 

**Ryan  
**ANYWAY  
this has been bugging me for months  
if a cow dies and gets turned into a hot dog in your story’s universe  
does it remember being a cow 

**Shane  
** That’s a good question  
Gonna make it a tentative no for now. 

**Ryan  
**I mean the chicken remembered being an egg 

**Shane  
**That’s true  
Hm.   
I’ll get back to you on that.   
I have some insurance stuff to fill out now, talk later? 

**Ryan  
**sure

Ryan put down the phone. Well, he tried. And he’s glad he did. It really was bugging him, how the rules of that universe worked. Root beers served drinks and hot dogs had families. It was absurd. Didn’t make any sense. Honestly, the mere mental image of Shane trying to explain his creation was enough to make him smile. 

Still. The Hotdaga wasn’t the all-encompassing cheer-up it was when Shane first brought it back. Aw, well. Maybe next time it’d make more of a dent in his overall mood. He could look forward to that, at least. 

(Not that he’d ever tell Shane that.)

Maybe TV would help. He turned it on, and the screen flashed to a newsroom where- oh, no. 

_ "What I’m saying,” _ said a talking head, _ is that these people knew what they were getting into, there are signs all around the perimeter, and you know what they say? Use of dea-” _

Ryan flipped to another channel. Who changed it in the first place? It was on HBO before, it should have been in the middle of a movie or some shit, not… that. 

He went through the guide and found a documentary to watch. It was about frogs, if the title was any indication. Not about guns. Or blood. Or death. Just frogs, being their froggy selves. It was nice. It didn’t put his nerves at ease, didn’t lighten the weight in his stomach. But at least it didn’t make them worse. 

* * *

“Hey, Ryan, I need some help with something.”

“What is it?”

“I need a name.”

“A name?”

“Yeah, a name that a person could have.” 

“For what?”

“It doesn’t matter, just shoot me a random name.”

“Uh-”

“Oh-” Shane began to chuckle. “I didn’t- ha- ‘just shoot me’. I didn’t realize…” He trailed off as Ryan didn’t start laughing. “Sorry. Dumb joke.”

“It’s fine,” Ryan lied. “Uh… I dunno, Dolly’s a name. Will that work?”

“Yeah, actually. Thanks, Ry’. That’s a good middle name for a sausage.”

“Wha- oh, fuck you!” As Shane smirked, he kept going - “You son of a bitch, you- don’t trick me into helping you with your stupid food story!”

Everything he said in protest just seemed to make Shane beam with joy even more. What a smug asshole that man was. Ryan had better things to do than play along with the hot dog saga today; he had a script to research. True Crime was coming up next, and they’d probably start filming for that in December or January (to say nothing of all the other projects filling their schedules on the side). Better to have the scripts done as soon as possible. Like the one he was working on now. He clicked back to one of his tabs for… oh. 

He forgot that one of his online sources had photographs of the crime scene. The victim had been shot through the head, and while reading about it didn’t make much of an impact, seeing it… it was a different story when it was told through images. 

He clicked out, and started thinking about how to prolong the Hotdaga conversation before the lump in his throat grew any bigger. 

* * *

He made the mistake of sitting too close to the TV when they went out for lunch. By the time the commercials ended and the news came back on, it was too late to pick another seat. The waitress wouldn’t like it - and anyway, Shane would ask why. 

_ “You can’t compare this to Tiananmen Square, it- even Kent State, they’re still not even in the same ballpark…” _

Weren’t these things usually muted? 

“I had the weirdest nightmare last night,” said Shane, without any prompting. 

“...Okay. Are- are you gonna talk about it, or…?”

“I was at the hospital - in the dream, I mean - I think I was supposed to have the sling taken off. And I was in the waiting room, waiting.”

“That is generally what they’re for.”

“And then I felt something weird in my arm. The left one. So I looked down, and my whole arm was turning green, and kinda dissolving away. Like it was rotting.”

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah, it even rotted away my sleeve, don’t know how that works but-”

“No, why do you feel the need to tell me about your body-horror nightmare? We’re in a restaurant, dude.”

“I just… I dunno, I wanted to tell somebody. It was gonna bug me all day if I didn’t share the weirdness around a bit. Like, remember when you had those nightmares where I died?”

_ “...that the government cannot slaughter dozens of unarmed civilians and not-” _

_ “Don't say unarmed, you know full well-” _

_ “A few gun-toting nutjobs showing up is not justification for this- for mass murder of protestors!” _

“Yeah, I remember those.”

“You told me about them. So now you get to hear _ my _ nightmares about me dying. Even if it’s not, uh… didn’t a giant snake eat me in one of them?”

“Oh my god-”

“Wasn’t that how one of them went down?”

“It was.”

“You have so many phobias, I forget that snakes are one of them.”

“Bold words coming from Shane ‘scared of heroin’ Madej.”

“I… alright, touche. Or what about the one where I got- what was it, vaporized by aliens?”

_ “What were they expecting?” _

“I think you said something like, my shoes were left intact, but the rest of my clothes were vaporized with me?”

_ “I’ll say this about Waco: that time, it was the government that came to them…” _

“That one stuck with me,” said Ryan. “Wasn’t fun.”

_ “We saw what happened. The Air Force was trying to disperse them peacefully, until the crowd started shooting-” _

_ “You don’t know if they shot first!” _

“I bet. But when you told me about it, it was like getting a weight off your chest, right?”

_ “And that’s why this lawsuit isn’t going to amount to anything, because the trespassers knew what they were getting into, and the fault is on them.” _

“I guess it was.”

“And that’s why you get to hear about my twisted subconscious. We’re even now.”

Ryan was in the middle of forming a response when the waitress came over. 

“Are you all set to order?”

The conversation was dropped as the boys picked their orders, and the waitress took their menus away. 

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom real quick,” said Shane. “Guard my seat.”

“Guard it- I don’t think anyone’s gunning for your seat, dude.”

“You never know. Think of all the times I was an insufferable asshole to ghosts. I’ve probably made a lot of enemies. Ghost enemies.”

“Okay. If a demon walks in here looking for the world’s pettiest form of revenge against you, I guess I’ll let you know.”

Ryan let his smile drop as Shane walked away. He wasn’t feeling well. At least the TV had, mercifully, started playing commercials again. It wasn’t that Ryan was especially _ fond _ of arthritis medicine ads, but they were better than the alternative. 

_ The fault is on them. _Goddamnit, why’d the talking head have to say that? Why’d a fun outing with Shane have to turn so… not fun? 

_ The fault is on them. _

Well. Shane wasn’t around to get curious. Ryan pulled out his phone, heading to the messaging app. Below conversations with his friends and family, there was one from his boss. His contact name in Ryan’s phone was the same stupid nickname that Shane had given him. It was weird and didn’t make sense and goddamnit, knowing Shane, maybe it was a Hotdaga reference. It almost made the man seem... innocent somehow. Harmless, even. 

It was going to hurt, but he needed to see it again. He scrolled up to the texts from September nineteenth. 

**Top Banana  
**How’s the festival going? 

**Ryan  
**Pretty bad honestly. They only have two bands right now and people don’t seem too crazy about them. 

**Top Banana  
**That sounds rough.  
I heard through the Twitter grapevine that the raid is back on just because people don’t like the festival. 

**Ryan  
**The raid was never off really. Some people never gave up on it. But yeah a lot of people have said they’d join in if more musicians didn’t come in. And so far they haven’t. 

**Top Banana  
**I know.   
And it gave me an idea.   
Obviously using this festival as a platform to promote the show won’t work like we thought it would. I was watching your livestream when it was up, and it just isn’t working out. But if you went somewhere else, where the people weren’t so angry and the stuff happening was more interesting, you might just get the publicity you need after all. 

**Ryan  
**Are you saying we should join the raid?  
We probably shouldn’t. 

**Top Banana  
**It would bring in a lot of views if you and Shane livestreamed it. 

**Ryan  
**It’s dangerous. I can’t bring anyone into a situation like that. 

**Top Banana  
**Come on, Ryan. Do you really think it’s going to go that badly? Think of how long the Air Force has had to prepare for this. They’re going to de-escalate the raid before anything dangerous happens. And can you imagine the PR nightmare it would be if they actually shot people? The eyes of the world are on them. They won’t shoot anyone. 

**Ryan  
**I guess you have a point. 

**Top Banana  
**Exactly! You’re in the perfect position to be a part of internet history! Take this opportunity and run with it! 

**Ryan  
**I’d have to ask Shane and Mark. 

**Top Banana  
**Of course!  
By the way, I would suggest staying in the back of the group when they go off on the raid. That way you can get better footage of the whole event, from a bit of a distance. And crossing the border would be trespassing, so just stay behind the signs in case they start arresting people. 

**Ryan  
**Okay, Shane and Mark are bored enough to be on board. As long as we stay in the back and don’t cross the border. 

**Top Banana  
**Perfect! 

That was the last text from that night. _ Perfect! _His tone changed in the messages sent the next morning. Of course it did. And of course Ryan didn’t answer until they’d piled up into a wall of frantic bubbles. He couldn’t have answered them, not with Shane hurt, not with Mark making calls left and right, not with the gunshots still ringing in his ears. 

But there were messages he did answer. _I guess you have a point. _He could have said no. He _should_ have said no. But instead, he gave in. He brought people into a war zone waiting to happen. He nearly got Shane killed. 

He should have known better. _ They won’t shoot anyone. _ Like they didn’t say otherwise months before the raid. Like he didn’t read about all the people held at gunpoint for barely going past the border. His boss was short-sighted, unthinking, _ uncaring, _ and so obviously at fault here - there was no doubt about that, and Ryan was sure that Hell would have a white Christmas before he forgave that man for what he did - but didn’t Ryan share some of the blame? Ryan listened, he agreed, he walked right into the biggest mistake of his life, for- what, for the views? For his boss’s approval? _ The fault is on them. _It rang through his head over and over again, drowning out everything else and- fuck, something moved next to him! 

“Woah, calm down, Ry!" 

Oh. It was just Shane. Sitting down. 

“You’re even jumpier than usual,” he added. “And that’s saying something. Are you okay?”

“Uh- yeah. I’m just, uh… I was just thinking about stuff. And you kinda startled me out of it.” 

“Oh. What kind of stuff?”

“Well, uh- work stuff. Like the episode. Tomorrow’s episode. We still need to put some final touches on it.” 

From there, a conversation started. Shane said something or other, and Ryan bounced off it - but the words didn’t register for him. He was going through all the motions of their usual banter, yet the feelings that used to be associated with it just weren’t there. 

Eventually the waitress came back, handing them their dishes. 

“In hindsight,” said Shane as he struggled to cut his chicken with only one utensil, “maybe I should have gone for finger food.”

Ryan shook his head as he went to cut his own meal, when a wave of wrongness rushed over him. There was something… not right about this dish. Even though it wasn’t remarkably different from any other plate of salmon he’d had before. He off cut a piece of it, and raised it up to his lips, but a sense of nausea objected, sinking its way through his body. The thought of even taking a bite out of this fish had become sickening. 

Maybe this was karma. If Ryan hadn’t gotten Shane hurt, Shane wouldn’t have to load himself up with antibiotics every day, and the side effects wouldn’t have… yeah, this had to be karma. Maybe when Shane stopped taking the medicine, Ryan would stop randomly losing his appetite. It’d be fitting. After all, the fault was on him, wasn’t it? 

* * *

The meeting was about budgets - nothing special. They had one of these every once in a while, working out which locations they could afford to travel to and the order that was most efficient. Ryan, Shane, and a handful of crew members were in attendance. 

“So,” said their boss, explaining the economics of a potential episode lineup, “if we filmed the last few True Crimes and the first few Supernatural episodes all in one trip to NYC, we could save ourselves at least fifteen hundred dollars just from not buying extra plane tickets.” 

Everyone nodded along and shared their thoughts and did all the standard stuff you’d expect at a budget meeting. The only person who seemed to be having fun was their boss, but Ryan got the feeling that the smile and upbeat tone of voice was just for show. Just to keep the others from falling asleep in their seats or letting their minds run off to Daydream Land - faking enthusiasm for the sake of everyone else in the room. It was a sort of acting Ryan had grown familiar with. If Ryan wore his emotions on his face right now, he’d scare his coworkers more than any ghost they’d ever encountered. 

Because Ryan was in this room, being lectured by the same boss, less than two months ago. They weren’t talking about budgets then. 

“Well,” their boss went on, “glad that part’s settled. Uh- one last thing, it might affect some of the nitty-gritty details of our plans for the trips - Shane, when _ is _ that sling supposed to come off?” 

Wow. Bold question for a man in his position. 

“Uh… the doctor said probably by Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, perfect!”

“Yeah, but it’s not - it won’t be perfect. The infection, it, uh… it caused some nerve damage. Holding anything steady would be an issue. And backpacks, I don’t know if the doctor would give me wearing a backpack the all-clear. It'll be usable, more or less, but not good as new.”

“Alright. So when _ will _ your arm be good as new?”

Fucking hell. His tone was so casual, so flippant. The man has Shane’s blood on his hands and this is how he talks to him? This is how he deals with the mess he made? God, it made Ryan’s blood boil. And with the speed his heart was pumping it through his veins right now, that wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. 

“I dunno. I, uh… it might never heal completely. It all depends on how the P.T. goes.” 

“Oh. Well, for everyone’s sake, let’s hope the P.T. goes well, eh, Shane?”

Ryan got up and left. 

He picked a break room in his head and made a beeline for it. He saw people staring from the corners of his eyes, each one only tightening the vice around his chest. But they didn’t matter as much as getting out, getting away. 

He might have slammed the door on his way in. Maybe that was where the ringing in his ears was coming from. There was no way to know for sure now, not with the pit in his stomach dragging him down, blurring thoughts together in a foggy mess of images and words and short breaths-

The door creaked open. 

“Ryan?”

His heart skipped a beat. He didn’t have to turn around to know who was there, to know who was standing behind him. Shane broke the silence:

“Are you okay?”

He could try to lie. 

“Yeah.”

“You don’t seem okay, Ryan.”

Fuck. Y’know what? Screw lying. 

“It’s just- he’s the asshole who sent us to that fucking thing in the first place. He talked us into going to Rachel, he got us to go to a fucking war zone. Shane, it’s- you’re _ hurt, _ and he has the audacity, the fucking _ nerve, _ to prod for the exact time and date your arm’s getting better like he’s not the reason you got shot to begin with! And I'm…” 

Oh, no. Shane's eyes were wide, his brows raised - it was too much for him already. 

“...it just. It pisses me off, y’know?”

Shane let out a long sigh. 

“I know.” His hand fell on Ryan’s shoulder. “I get it.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t have gotten it, because if he really did understand how Ryan felt, he would have stormed out even before Ryan did. But somehow, Shane was the pinnacle of coolness about all this. If Ryan were in Shane’s shoes, he’d probably have used his good arm to punch his boss in the jaw today. Yet here Shane was, quiet as a mouse at the meeting, being the calmest voice in the room while Ryan loses his patience. How did he do it? How’d he get out of that fucking desert without a pit permanently lodged in his stomach? How’d he manage not to be on his toes all the time? And if he came out without those things, why wasn’t Ryan so lucky? 

It didn’t make sense. Ryan shouldn’t have felt like this. He got out without a scratch on him, Shane was the one who got hurt, why wasn’t he the one drowning in anxiety? 

Oh, god. That was a horrible thought. A jinx waiting to happen. Shane’s already been through more than enough, the last thing he needs is to have more shit shoveled on top of him. God, look at Ryan now; acting like he’s got it bad when Shane nearly _ died _ just a few weeks ago. What kind of selfish asshole thinks like that-

“You sure you don’t want to, like, lie down or something?”

Oh fuck, Shane was still there. How long was Ryan standing in silence? 

“I can tell them you aren’t feeling well, if you want.”

Ryan thought about it for a moment. 

“Nah, I… I have to go over the episode one last time anyway. I’ll just… do I have to walk into that meeting again?”

“The meeting’s over. The only thing left was asking about my arm.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Uh… do you want a minute alone, or…”

“No, I’m- I’ll be fine.”

Ryan slipped his way past Shane and out of the room, putting on the best emotionless face he could manage so as not to scare the rest of the office. 

* * *

There was a dark morning sky above them, and this time, Ryan could really see the stars. They still had the lights set up around the car, and they were bright as ever, but the constellations, ever stubborn, persisted. 

Shane was still there. He was carrying the equipment around, setting it up in the absence of most of their crew. Mark had gone back into the car to configure something or other with the camera. And the kid… 

The kid was there, too. 

He had a name. Ryan found himself repeating that thought. He had a name, he had a name, he had a name. It might have been Thomas, or Eddie, or Billy, or Liam, or hell, it could have been Ryan or Shane. Might explain why he didn’t mention it to them. Didn’t want to make things confusing. 

In lieu of a known name, he was a collection of adjectives. _ Tall _ was the first one. He managed the long-thought-impossible feat of being taller than Shane, if only by two, maybe three inches. He wore a blue t-shirt and grey khakis. The sort of outfit you wouldn’t usually be comfortable wearing on a cold early morning on one of summer’s dying days. Somehow the kid seemed fine. He was white, and had long blond hair in a ponytail. His face was plain, lacking any visible freckles or even facial hair. He couldn’t have been older than twenty - for all Ryan knew, this was a high-schooler who hitched a ride with someone else. He'd told the boys that he was here out of curiosity more than anything. 

_"We know there's something in there,"_ he'd said. _"And it's gotta be really important to somebody, and that's why there's so much secrecy around this whole thing. But we don't know what the something is, even though it's right there! Like, is aliens? Is it planes? Is it friggin' Superman? Nobody knows, bro! Isn't that, like, driving you crazy?"_

And there were three other things Ryan knew about the kid. He was personable, seemed like a nice young man. And he was a fan of the show. Probably not a hardcore one, but certainly familiar enough with the show to recognize its hosts from a distance. 

What was the third thing, then? 

“Ryan, can you hold this for me?”

Shane needed help setting up one of the light fixtures; he only had two hands, after all. As Ryan held the parts in place, his mind stayed fixed on the kid. He had a name. But what was it? Why did Ryan want to know it so badly? 

By the time they’d finished with the light, Ryan had the words ready to go in his head, _ Hey, I didn’t catch your name, _ and he turned to the kid to ask-

A whirring sound came from the distance. Ryan’s heart stopped. Shattered. Sank. 

The helicopter was flying in, and suddenly he remembered the third thing he knew, and still was left without a name, only a blank space on a memorial that would never be made. 

They don’t have much longer - Ryan shouts his question, but the whirring is getting too loud, too deafening, and even his thoughts are drowned out as-

He woke up with a start. 

* * *

_“It’s just TSA policy, ma’am,”_ said Shane in a pitched-up voice. _“We don’t want another Warp Disaster, do we?”_ He switched to a scratchy voice to say _“What the hell is a Warp Disaster?”_ and used an almost-normal voice to add _“Pam, I think that’s an event that hasn’t happened yet.”_

Ryan wasn’t sure what he was expecting the newest season of the Hotdaga to be like, but what he got sure as hell wasn’t it. But at the pace things were going, it seemed like this entire season would be about Maizey and Pam’s struggle to get through security at a time-travel airport, and that was perhaps the most Classic Shane move Shane’s ever pulled. 

Mixed in with the usual annoyance, there were threads of amusement running through Ryan’s brain. Much as he hated the thought of admitting it, there was a genuine charm to hearing this stupid saga play out. 

But it wasn’t like last week. It didn’t distract him. Didn’t quiet his frayed nerves. Maybe it was the surprise factor that got him last time, maybe his brain couldn’t be pleasantly shocked when it knew the shock was coming. Its magic had worn off far too quickly, and there was still a weight in Ryan’s chest. 

“Will Pam and Maizey ever get through the bureaucratic nightmare that is the Time Security Agency? Could Pam’s dedication to goodness waver in the face of constant frustrations? What _ is _ a Warp Disaster, anyway? Find out next time on the Hotdaga, only on BUN!”

With that, the boys and the crew packed up, preparing themselves for the day ahead. Ryan walked back to his desk; he had to do research. There was a John Doe case that he’d been putting off working on. Unless… maybe he could find another case? Something to take the Doe’s place in the episode lineup? Maybe. He tried wracking his brain for other cases that they could tackle, something that-

“Hey, Ryan!”

Oh. It was Shane. 

“Uh- I just wanted to ask, are any of your nights free this week? Because I’m free every night this week, and I was wondering-”

“Movie night?”

“Yep.”

“Sure. What movies have you got in mind?”

“I was just thinking, since Halloween is coming up and all, we could watch a horror movie together.”

Huh. That might actually make for a not-half-bad evening. Horror movies were fun, what with the monsters and the blood… and the death. 

On second thought, a horror movie probably wasn’t the best idea. 

“Eh, maybe we could go for- not horror, but-”

“Not horror? You, of all people, _ turning down _ a horror movie? Who are you and what have you done with Ryan Bergara?”

“No, I- I mean, it’s cliché to watch horror movies this time of year, so, uh- y’know, there’s Halloween-themed movies out there that aren’t _ horror _ per se.”

“Oh. Like Hocus Pocus, that kinda-”

“Exactly Hocus Pocus.” Barely any death in that movie. “Is it on Netflix?”

“I don’t know. Actually, I can check-”

Suddenly a loud popping rang through the air, and Ryan’s pulled back to Nevada. 

The popping keeps going, there’s screaming from far away, and figures start falling, and Ryan throws himself onto the ground, and the kid stumbles and falls in front of him. There’s blood spurting out the side of his head, coming in bursts with every heartbeat, pounding, pulsing, pumping out more blood than any human body has the right to contain as his face is smothered in red and the desert ground becomes soaked underneath him. His eyes are open, but there’s nothing behind them, there’s nothing in his face, it’s all a blank slate, and there was definitely a laughing, happy person there just a few seconds ago but there isn’t anymore, and even if the eyes no longer see, Ryan can’t look away from them, from the spurts of blood coming out like a punctured hose and the ground and the face and oh _ god, _ that face has a name, _ what’s his name? _

_ “Ryan!” _

Someone’s calling his name, faint and fuzzy against the gunshots. Oh fuck, Shane! Ryan flips over - Shane’s on his other side, and on the ground, too, and there’s a pained twisting in his face that shatters Ryan’s heart all over again, and suddenly he sees the blood on Shane’s shirt, and Shane’s hurt, and they’re miles away from help and they need to run, they need to _ get out, _ but the gunshots don’t stop, they just keep going and going and going and going-

_ “RYAN!” _

All at once Ryan was thrust back into the office. Beneath his fingers was carpeting, and kneeling over him was Shane. Not bleeding. Not dying. 

But definitely hurting. 

His good hand hovered over Ryan’s shoulder, afraid to touch him. Afraid to do anything. 

A crowd had gathered to see what the commotion was about, all looking down at him and around at each other. Faint murmurs floated through the air. And at the center of it all, Shane, wide eyes transfixed on Ryan like he’d been hurt all over again. 

Ryan ran. 

He saw the break room door, and in one long blur he found himself kneeling at the couch, his head buried between his arms and the fabric. The lights were off. It should have been quiet. But there was still ringing in his ears. The gunshots, the screaming, the helicopter whirring. He was back in the office, he _ knew _ he was back in the office, but his ears and his nerves and his rapid-fire heart all said that this was the desert, because there was no leaving the desert, and no matter where he ran the desert would always catch up with him-

“Ryan.”

Everything froze when he heard that voice. It was small. Soft. 

There was a long moment of silence. 

“It was just something backfiring, wasn’t it,” said Ryan. 

“Yeah. Probably a car, motorcycle. Something like that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. This isn’t your fault, Ry-”

“It is. I’m the reason you’re hurt.”

A pause. 

“Ryan, look at me.”

He didn’t budge. 

“Please.”

Shane’s voice was barely a voice at all then. Ryan’s heart cracked again. Slowly, he lifted his head. 

Shane was sitting next to him. His knees were curled into his chest, his free hand wrapped around them. 

“None of this is your fault.”

“I dragged you into the raid.”

“You _ asked _ me. It wasn’t even your idea, Ryan.”

“I didn’t have to go along with it.”

“Yeah, and our boss didn’t have to bring it up in the first place. And he’s our _ boss, _ it wasn’t like you were in a position where you could easily turn him down. Wasn’t like the festival was worth sticking around for, and it wasn’t like the troops needed to… listen, I’m not gonna act like I know who's to blame for all this - shit, the whole _ country’s _ tearing itself apart trying to figure that out - but it’s _ not _ on you.”

He put his hand out. Ryan took it. 

“I could’ve said no, too. If I put my foot down, you wouldn’t have gone. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, either.”

“You got _ shot, _ Shane.”

“You don’t need to be shot to get hurt. Don’t think I haven’t noticed things lately. You’ve barely been eating, you’re spaced out half the time I look at you, you jump at everything sudden. And now this. That’s not okay. When, uh... when I was in the hospital, you stuck around. You kept me company that whole time. You smuggled in food that didn’t taste like ass. You were a _ friend, _ Ryan. You were there for me. I want to be there for you. So if there’s anything I can do to help... just tell me.”

The ringing was faint now. The desert, floating farther away. It was real but not as present, and breathing was just a bit easier. Because Shane was here. Because the fault wasn’t on Ryan. Because, after a month of fear and stress and nightmares, he had someone to talk to. 

For the first time in a long time, Ryan felt safe. 

“Can we just talk?”

“Of course. What do you want to talk about?”

Ryan would probably regret this within the next week. But fuck it. 

“How’s the Hotdaga coming along?”

Shane looked a little taken aback at first, and Ryan was expecting some quip or stunned remark, or at least a laugh. It never came. 

“Pretty good.”

“Can we talk about that?”

“Anytime."

* * *

Ryan woke up on the floor. His heart pounded, the weight was back, and gunshots rang in his ears. 

But it wasn’t real, he reminded himself. It wasn’t in the present. Not anymore. It was just another nightmare. This wasn’t the desert. It was just a haunted house. Not the best place in the world to be, but still _ not _ the desert. The chill in the air was just because it was winter. Shane wasn’t in the room with him, but he _ was _ on the other side of the house. He was fine. He’d been doing fine all night, mocking the spirit box and taunting ghosts like nothing had changed at all. He and Ryan even held hands - both hands - for a proper seance just a few hours ago. Shane’s hand only trembled a little. 

Ryan was here, he was real, this place was real. He was breathing, deep breaths, grounding himself in the now. Shane wasn’t by his side this time. But Ryan had learned enough - from books, from talking with Shane, from meeting with the therapist - to do it alone. He had a new mantra for nights like these. 

He was here, he was real, this was real. Saying that enough times helped him stay out of the desert. And slowly, but surely, the ringing and the weight faded away. He readjusted himself within the soft fabric of his sleeping bag, letting the side of his head rest on the pillow. 

He had things to do in the morning - lord knows he did - but before any of that could be done, he had to rest. Which meant relaxing and breathing and being right here, right now, in the very real present. 

And tonight, that actually felt possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and have a good one!


End file.
